


Fallen Angel

by Elfah



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Awkward Thorin, Bittersweet Ending, Blow Jobs, Bottom Thranduil, Caring Thranduil, Decadence, Fish out of Water, M/M, Talking, Thorin Feels, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:18:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3686808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfah/pseuds/Elfah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honestly, he really doesn't know what he is doing here, in this dubious 'club' so far away from his home. He stares the one that smirks, playing charmingly with his golden hair and doing a sexy pose in the red lights. A guy, not different from the others, dancing and drinking beneath this poor light, that also approached before. He swallows drily, at least – he tells himself – this one seems older them the other boys. At least he doesn't seem like a teenager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen Angel

_First when the clouds go to sleep_  
_They can see us in the sky_  
_We have fear and are alone_  
_God knows I don't want to be an angel_

**Engel - Rammstein**

 

“Hello, handsome! Searching for company tonight?”, a mouth full of fake smiles smirks to him.

Honestly, he really doesn't know what he is doing here, in this dubious 'club' so far away from his home. He stares the one that smirks, playing charmingly with his golden hair and doing a sexy pose in the red lights. A guy, not different from the others dancing and drinking beneath this light that also approached before. He swallows drily, at least – he tells himself – this one seems older them the other boys. At least he doesn't seem like a teenager.

It's cold outside, but here, at this place, he wears tight denim shorts and a sleeveless fishnet shirt that shows more than hides. And, of course, long black vinyl boots with high heels. Ow, boy, he really looks like a slut this way! Well, he knows he has to sell his fish. The guy drinking on the balcony didn't answer him, but he knows he listened perfectly and he didn't answer “no” too. So, it's time to work, bitch, he keeps telling himself. And so he leans on the balcony giving his best pose. A cat ready to capture its prey.

“So, darling... I'm just waiting for you.”, he approaches to the guy, says languidly in his ears, and put a hand in the thigh of the other. “Could I be that company?”

Music is not so loud, as though it wanted to be heard by the deaf, but still you have to talk a little louder. The breath of the other smells menthol cigarettes and he shivers when it meets his skin.

The eyes of the man wides, even with the previous amount of whiskey he drank before and the said hand in his lap seems hot. Too hot. For a moment he hesitates. A moment that seems like an eternity. Again: what the fucking is he doing here?

He thinks about other stuff. Things and people.  _ One in particular _ emerges amid the mass of incoherent thoughts that was flooding his head even before the club and the whiskey, before the so so young whores that he manages to shirk, before  _ this _ whore, not so young, but so much hotter and tempter. But he is hurt and his body yearns comforting touches as much as his mind, his heart, pleads for numbness. He knows he is weak.

He looks the guy with tiny clothes. You can really see his nipples and the volume in his crotch through his outfit (damn it, don't look the cock!). But the hooker has beautiful traits, though “pretty” is not the word for him. Pretty is for girls that smile shyly and have diminutive names or guys who look and act cute for this girls but still pass their nights alone without getting laid. Maybe “deadly” is more adequate with you think about his eyes... yeah,  _ a deadly beauty, a fallen angel _ . An angel with long golden hair, pale eyes that, in this gloomy red light, he can't say what color is, thick brows that someway matches the hair and the long and the delicate leashes, and, finally, a charming curved upper lip in a mouth that is kind of dark and swollen now (he knows why, considering the hour, but he pretends he doesn't).

Comforting touches, indeed, even if they are professional.

“Yeah, sure”, somehow he manages to say in his baritone voice without babbling.

“Oh, good! I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, handsome!”, the whore smirks and winks, as always, siting on his side. With his land he starts to trace circles in his inner thigh. He couldn't hear, because of the music, but he know the man hissed and moaned in response.

The client has a huge beard and long dark curly hair, with one or two gray strands, a little wild and  disheveled. But he doesn't seem like a hippie or a beggar. He is wearing a suit, with loosen tie and two buttons opened, as though he left from his work just seconds ago (but at this hour? Hmm... maybe a workaholic?). And, somehow, the hair and the beard gives him a sophisticated air. Like a mane in a lion, like a knight. Some unusual kind of braveness. A  _ nobleness _ that you don't find nowadays. Especially  _ not _ here.

The hand now is traveling through his chest, and, even if there's a little sensation of personal space invasion, he fights to repress it.

“I'm Thorin.” The hand returns to his tight, doing lazy circles, never really leaving his body, and he thinks for a moment if he should given a fake name, or if everybody gives a fake name or why he is thinking about all this things and not playing cool. He knows he can't do this without a minimum sense of reality instead of the complete fakeness. The hand in his thigh seems to send electric waves to his spine and the eyes of the whore that never leaves Thorin's face disrupts the thinking act.

“ _Blondie_ , at your service.”, the hooker says, laughing in his easy going facade, and he thinks about Thorin's embarrassment, not really avoiding an amused looking. Unlike Thorin, he is working and he is cool. He didn't give his real name. Yeah, Thranduil knows very well how risky this could be.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my firt fanfic completely idealized and wrote in english. So, though it'd be one shot, is taking a great time to write (and searching about prostitution) and I so decided to keep it slow and to do a multichapter. I know prostitution varies from country to country, so I'm trying to mix a little, since I didn't pick an especific place. I thought writting Thrandy as a street whore, but he has Legolas and this kind of prostituion is the least safer and so the story didn't seem credible, so I gave in and pick the brothel/club scenario. What do you think?
> 
> Kudos and reviews make Johnny a happy boy!


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